


Clutch

by kiva31



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Character Death, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-15
Updated: 2004-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-07 11:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10359453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiva31/pseuds/kiva31
Summary: WARNINGS:  Character Death -- if you’ve heard of theepisode, you probably know who it is, too.SPOILERS: Set after Heroes part 2, so a *bloody* big spoiler for that. Also for Meridian, andSingularity. Any others I’ve missed mentioning, I apologise for.SUMMARy: Some solace after loss





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Stargate SG-1 FanFiction - Clutch

It was no use, Sam knew it even as she tried. The tears came, and with a blink they went, tracking down her face to pool at the corners of her nose and mouth. She swiped at them with her hand, then did it again, frustrated when her skin didn't absorb the moisture and take away the evidence. Now she felt soggy as well as hurt. Why had she bothered getting out of bed this morning?

A knock on the door reminded Sam, giving her the answer, and she quickly scrubbed at her face again. Digging her fingers in to her forehead and rubbing roughly, she hoped that her hunched position hid her face as she cleared her throat. "Yeah?"

The door opened slowly, a head following it to peer around the corner. "Sam?"

"Daniel." She swallowed, trying to dry her mouth as she heard how wet her voice sounded. "What's up?"

Daniel moved further in to the room, never fully entering, but enough so that she could see his figure from the corner of her eye even in the gloom. He was wearing a suit -- dark material, with a matching tie. She supposed it was appropriate. The perfect attire for a Wake.

That's what this was, now. They'd had the memorial service for Janet back at the mountain. She was still wearing her 'Class As'. And she'd never felt more uncomfortable in them.

Daniel's voice startled her back to the present, and she remembered that she'd asked him a question.

"Nothing. Nothing's up," he said, his voice low. "I just... are you alright?"

She considered how she wanted to answer that. Was she? No. She'd just lost a very good friend. It was Daniel's ascension all over again. But this time, there was no coming back.

"I'm okay," she said anyway, knowing that it fooled neither of them. 

Daniel didn't press her, though, and for that, she felt a few more tears escape. 

"Okay," he murmured instead. "Well... you know where I am."

"Yeah," she forced herself to say. "Thanks." She risked a glance at him, watching as he withdrew from the room. She was grateful for the understanding. For a few moments, she just sat there, unsure of what to do. She was hesitant to show her face anywhere she might be spotted, didn't want to be questioned about her emotional state. But shouldn't she be out there? It was her home that was hosting the gathering... her friend's life they were 'celebrating'. Did that obligate her?

Maybe, she thought, I'll just sit here and cry. Her eyes were gritty, her nose stinging and running, her throat aching as if someone had forced a tennis ball down there. Not a very attractive picture. But while she'd been deciding what to do, her mind had been off her grief. Now no tears would come. Instead she began to regulate her breathing, clearing her head as she swallowed. A quick glance at her dressing-table mirror showed a pale, blotchy wretch, all dressed up but with nothing to do. Grabbing a tissue from the box sitting on the cupboard, she rubbed at her face, taking another when the first became to ragged to do any good. There. It was the best she could do. Moving to the door, she steeled herself, then cautiously exited the room. If she couldn't cry herself in to forgetting, she would just have to go about it another way. 

Walking down the hallway that led to the living room, Sam paused. She could hear the murmur of voices, muffled, but still audible. She just couldn't make herself move forward. Her feet seemed glued to the floor, the heels on her shoes wobbling from side to side a little as she tried to force herself on. It was no use. Apparently, she wasn't controlling her body today.

Turning to march herself back to her bedroom -- a move her legs obviously agreed with -- she stopped again. She'd hear something else, a noise above the visitors moving throughout her house. Her eyes closed as she realized what it was. 

She detoured slightly, ending up in front of her spare room -- the room that Cassie was staying in. It felt like days since they'd seen each other. Cassie was silent and still since she'd gotten the news, whereas Sam felt an almost frantic need for motion -- not difficult to achieve with the aftermath of the mission in which they'd lost Janet, with many more injured, including her own CO. He was still in the infirmary, in fact, fuming that he couldn't be there for his team. But they hadn't talked about it -- Sam wasn't sure she could even bring herself to do so. Perhaps now....

The door to the spare room had a sticky handle, and a part of Sam made a note to fix it at a later date. The rest concentrated on the push of the huge slab of wood, feeling the slight resistance as the carpet caught the bottom of the door. Then she saw the figure huddled on the edge of the bed, and she felt herself pull together.

"Cass?" Her voice was hoarse still, but there was no response anyway. Had she expected one? She moved further in to the room, pausing by the bed. Cassie didn't raise her head from where it hung, chin nearly brushing her chest. Her hair was worn down today, the long strands brushing her shoulder blades and falling around the tops of her arms. A few bits had been caught and pulled back, pinned with pretty clips that were shaped like Butterflies. Sam had done itself that morning. She wore a simple black top and pants, low heels adding just a bit more height to an already tall frame. Sam blinked, realizing suddenly that she was looking at a young woman. Where had the little refugee in her little leather and cotton dress gone? 

Sitting down next to Cassie, Sam spent a few moments smoothing the material of her skirt free of imaginary creases. She wasn't good at this; comfort. She wasn't even a very tactile person, not when she had time to actually think about touching another person. Spur of the moment was good -- it allowed her to react without thinking. 

Oh, she'd improved in leaps and bounds since she'd joined SG1, but... something about it still made her a little uncomfortable. 

Her arms twitched, ready to move anyway, when she realized that wasn't the reason for her hesitation. The hunched-over figure looked so frail... so brittle. As if she would fall apart with the push of a single finger-tip. 

Sam knew then that she was afraid. So she settled in to over the only comfort she knew would be accepted. Her presence. She only hoped it would do. 

She had no idea how long they sat there. For a moment, she didn't even know what it was that had drawn her from her thoughts. More movement gave her the answer, though, and she looked down. She blinked, trying to bring the image in to focus. 

Cassie's hand was on her leg, resting on the inside of her right thigh. 

No, not resting... *clutching*. As if Sam was the only thing keeping her from falling from the bed, from falling in to a deep, dark hole. It moved restlessly, fingers kneading the material of her skirt over and over, sometimes catching her skin as they grasped. 

Her breath left her body. No big inhale, no gasp, just an exhalation of all of the oxygen in her lungs. Her head fell back on to her shoulders, her mouth open wide as if gulping fresh air in. She remembered this. Remembered that tired, scared, lonely little girl, fresh from a trip through the Stargate. Filled with the knowledge that her family -- her whole world -- was gone. How they'd sat on a bed in the temporary quarters assigned to the refugee, and a strong little hand had grabbed hold of her leg, begging her without words not to leave.

The tears that had deserted her earlier returned, echoing the others that had been before them as they fell, following the lines of her face. Resting her hand on top of the colder, smaller one on her leg, Sam did the only thing she could.

She clutched back.

**The End**

  


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> Authors Notes: I don't like the idea of Janet Fraiser dying. But, I've heard it's going to happen. Truthfully, I hope that we go through the whole episode thinking that Janet's going to die, only to find out we've been misled. If it did, I'd be happy -- oh, and this fic would be classed as AU, but.... 
> 
> This really just hit me last night -- at 2 am, to be precise. It's short, but I had to write it, and if I've done my job properly, it should, perhaps, maybe... just possibly, inspire some sadness. Yes, I know I'm evil. And I love it <G>

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>   
>  © February 2004 The characters of Stargate SG1 are not  
>  mine, and I lay no claim on them. This is for  
>  *entertainment* purposes only.

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